"Good," said Siméon. "That will keep it steady. What you must now do is to lie down in the hollow. This was where my coffin was to have been and where I often used to come and lie beside my dear Coralie. I would remain for hours, flat on the ground, speaking to her. . . . We both talked. . . . Yes, I assure you, we used to talk. . . . Oh, Patrice! . . ." Patrice had bent his tall figure in the narrow space where he was hardly able to move. "What am I to do?" he asked. "Don't you hear your Coralie? There's only a partition-wall between you: a few bricks hidden under a thin layer of earth. And a door. The other vault, Coralie's, is behind it. And behind that there's a third, with the bags of gold." The old man was bending over and directing the search as he knelt on the grass: "The door's on the left. Farther than that. Can't you find it? That's odd. You mustn't be too slow about it, though. Ah, have you got it now? No? Oh, if I could only go down too! But there's not room for more than one." There was a brief silence. Then he began again: "Stretch a bit farther. Good. Can you move?" "Yes," said Patrice. "Then go on moving, my lad!" cried the old man, with a yell of laughter. And, stepping back briskly, he snatched away the iron bar. The enormous block of stone came down heavily, slowly, because of the counterweight, but with irresistible force. Though floundering in the newly-turned earth, Patrice tried to rise, at the sight of his danger. Siméon had taken up the iron bar and now struck him a blow on the head with it. Patrice gave a cry and moved no more. The stone covered him up. The whole incident had lasted but a few seconds. Siméon did not lose an instant. He knew that Patrice, wounded as he was bound to be and weakened by the posture to which he was condemned, was incapable of making the necessary effort to lift the lid of his tomb. On that side, therefore, there was no danger. He went back to the lodge and, though he walked with some difficulty, he had no doubt exaggerated his injuries, for he did not stop until he reached the door. He even scorned to obliterate his footprints and went straight ahead. On entering the hall he listened. Don Luis was tapping against the walls and the partition inside the studio and the bedroom. "Capital!" said Siméon, with a grin. "His turn now." It did not take long. He walked to the kitchen on the right, opened the door of the meter and, turning the key, released the gas, thus beginning again with Don Luis what he had failed to achieve with Patrice and Coralie. Not till then did he yield to the immense weariness with which he was overcome and allow himself to lie back in a chair for two or three minutes.